


Stuck in a moment of emotion I've destroyed

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, for once, no vomiting, that's literally all there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: It doesn't matter if Bucky falls apart at the grocery store.  Steve's always going to put him back together.





	Stuck in a moment of emotion I've destroyed

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from tumblr. find me @builder051

 

 

At first Bucky thinks it’s the fluorescent overhead lighting that’s making his head ache.  That kind of thing has given him migraines before.  That’s why he has a table lamp in his cubicle at work.  But it’s one thing to change the lighting in his office, and something else entirely to expect Whole Foods to turn off the lights just for him.  And when he really thinks about it, he’d had a headache long before they’d arrived at the store.

 

Steve pushes the cart around a display of fresh berries.  “What do you think?”  He picks up a container of strawberries and raises his brows at Bucky.  “Good?  Or too sweet?”

 

Bucky’s not in the mood to challenge his palate.  He’s not in the mood to eat anything.  He gives a tiny shake of his head, trying not to increase the throb between his eyes. 

 

Steve looks marginally disappointed as he returns the strawberries to the shelf.  “I guess we’ll stick with the usual, then,” he says, reaching for baby carrots and spinach instead. 

 

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, trailing behind Steve as he chooses heirloom tomatoes. 

 

“Don’t be, Buck.  I want you to eat what you want.  You’re doing fine.”

 

“Hm.”  Is he, though?  Going to work, coming home, bumming around the house, sleeping in front of the TV.  With the heaviness in his limbs the and constant threat of a headache, Bucky hasn’t been up to much lately. 

 

Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand and gives it a squeeze before steering the cart out of the produce section and toward the bulk bins.  Besides the trek to and from work, it’s the first time Bucky’s been out all week.  It shouldn’t be such a big deal.  But he appreciates the warmth of Steve’s touch nonetheless. 

 

The bulk aisle smells like raisins and the slightly stale herbal scent that’s inextricable from organic grocery stores.  Normally Bucky doesn’t care, but today it brings a lump to his throat and builds pressure behind his eyes.  He blinks a few times and swallows hard.  Steve opens a bin of steel-cut oats, and Bucky swears he can taste them on the air as he watches Steve load scoop after scoop into a bag.

 

A spasm runs down Bucky’s jaw, and he tries to breathe through the sudden urge to gag.  He can’t stop tasting dust and oats and particles of shrimp and salmon from two aisles over.  He takes half a step toward Steve and leans forward until his chest is pressed to Steve’s back. 

 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve whispers. 

 

Bucky bows his head, burying his face in the shoulder of Steve’s t-shirt. 

 

“Hey.  What’s wrong?”

 

Bucky’s knees are weak.  How long has he been shaking?  A minute ago he was fine, but…  Who’s he kidding?  He hasn’t been fine in six months.  Or maybe since before the war.

 

“Buck?”

 

If he takes a step, he’s going to fall down.  If he unclenches his jaw, he’s going to throw up.  “Can…can we go?” Bucky hisses.

 

Steve drops the heavy metal scoop into the bin and reaches up to stroke Bucky’s hair.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  Do you think you can walk to the car?”  He doesn’t ask any more questions.

 

Bucky nods gingerly into his shoulder.

 

“Ok.  Let’s go.”  Steve abandons the shopping cart and slips his arm around Bucky’s waist.  In the blink of an eye, they’re in the parking lot and Steve’s opening the sedan’s passenger door.

 

“Alright.”  Steve turns the AC on low and points the vents away from Bucky’s face.  “Is that ok?” he asks. 

 

“Hm.”  The chill raises goosebumps on his arm, but it helps reduce the hot prickles of nausea creeping up his throat.

 

“Ok.  Good.”  Steve keeps up a stream of murmured encouragements all the way home.  He supports Bucky into the house and deposits him on the couch.  Bucky leans over the arm of the sofa, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. 

 

Steve sits beside him, gently rubbing circles into Bucky’s back.  “Do you…want to talk about it?” he posits.  “Was it a flashback?” 

 

“No,” Bucky groans.  He doesn’t know what it was.  He just knows he feels terrible.  And now he’s embarrassed.

 

Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair and rests his palm on the back of his neck.  “Geez, Buck,” Steve sighs.  “You’re burning up.”  He presses the backs of his knuckles under Bucky’s chin.  “You should’ve said something earlier.”

 

Bucky slowly sits up.  He swallows.  He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have words, so he just exhales. 

 

Steve gives an understanding nod and a small, sad smile.  “Yeah.  You…I know.  I’ll get you some ibuprofen, if you think you can stomach it.”  He starts to stand up, but Bucky reaches for his wrist and latches on.  He doesn’t have the words for it, but he doesn’t want Steve to go.  And he needs Steve to know that.

 

“Ok.  We can wait a minute,” Steve says.  He pats Bucky’s knee. 

 

Bucky lets himself fall into Steve’s chest, his stump shoulder wedged under Steve’s arm and his ear over his heart.  Bucky’s head throbs, and he closes his eyes against an influx of dizziness. 

 

“You’re gonna be ok, Buck,” Steve murmurs.  He grips Bucky’s shoulder and presses his cheek to the top of his head. 

 

The words in themselves don’t help.  But for the first time in a while, Bucky wants to believe him.

 


End file.
